Debut-Litzer Prize for Fiction: Podcasts on Malarky
I make no apology for admitting that when I listened to the Debut-Litzer Prize Judges Podcast and heard Fiction judge Leslie Jamison and Patrick McGinty discussing Malarky, I felt weepy. I think I was weepy with delight or disbelief that such an intelligent, close reading of a book I struggled so long and hard with was possible. (This probably sounds strange since I have been blessed with many excellent considerings, but there’s something unique about it being an extended audio discussion sailing out of your computer and also, it’s because I have felt this passionate about other people’s books.) I wished this for every writer, who was driven as demented as I was trying to write my novel.
Then, ever the cynic I felt like weeping all day long for the fact it would be unlikely to happen again in this lifetime and I might never write another book and how could I find company again like Our Woman. (she was pretty dandy, kept me en pointe) Completely and reliably irrational, but there’s a degree of exhaustion as I continue to struggle or interrogate a footnote novel to Malarky called Martin John, that may or may not see the light of day. Whatever the reason I lay in bed stunned and internally emoting before I carried the computer to my son’s room and said I can’t believe this podcast that includes my book to which he replied “look at this app” and showed me his phone. We deflected to teenage business instead, quite rightly and I got a grip.
Anyway here is the podcast you will be guaranteed not to weep at, but can hear discussions of all three books as there were three prize categories that included one for poetry won by Natalie Diaz When My Brother Was An Aztec and non-fiction Benjamin Busch’s Dust to Dust.
Here also is the podcast interview that Late Night Library did with each of us. Thank you to Patrick McGuity for the ace natter and for telling me about those writers he mentions. I love the ethos behind Late Night Library, an organization well worth supporting.
I think my heightened emotion was also due in part to the formidable news my mother won BEEKEEPER OF THE YEAR in her beekeeping group in Westport, Co Mayo. Here are some fantastic photographs that capture the moment. She is very passionate about bees and has been studying them and keeping them. It was especially great to hear this news because I recently did an event in Ottawa with Diana Beresford-Kroeger which included remarks on colony collapse and bee and tree calamity. Thus I could imagine Diana beaming at such. We need the bees!
RTE Radio One the Sean O’Rourke show had a feature on Christmas Book Picks and Malarky was one of Sinead Gleeson’s picks. Thank you to Sinead for this. The segment was on a show that included a weather story. The show also starts at 10am. Sean O’Rourke is a voice I associate with 1pm because 15 years ago he used to read the news at one I am nearly sure. I like this collusion of 10am and 1pm, of weather and literature.
10cm event
I’m late to the weather station to disclose the 10 cm snow event. This was the second snowfall of the season to my memory. The first snow event was the icing sugar event. This weather event will forever be memorable because it blew the fuse on my windscreen wipers. Remarkably that is the second time this month I have blown my window wiper fuse. This has been a perplexing year for window wipers in my guard.
The arrival of this snow (now turned to rain) event was carefully observed by my team of weather watching compadres. Each of whom has a district, not unlike the electoral districts in the city. Each watcher reports on sightings and the start of the event, which we collectively anticipate. It’s much FUN. As the main weather-wonderer who calls all the weather-watchers to their stations (ie your flat window) I took to the streets to do a reconnaissance since none of us could determine whether the snow had started or not. I decided to go jogging and find out. Thus I witnessed the very start of it. A suspicious rain start which became small grains of snow by the time I realized my wind-pipe was appalled at what I was asking of it, at this late hour of night, in such freezing temperatures.
I woke at 5am as I usually do if there’s weather action and convened with the thick and settled snow. The snow shovels began at around 5.30 or nearer to 6am. The birds were on strike.
The forecast was for the snow to turn to rain around 10am, but it hung on for much longer. I had an Ernest Shackleton expedition to the off licence on foot and on bus to two friends who were jointly birthday-ing. Half way there I contemplated abandoning the mission except I had bought Prossecco and was certain I’d land on my arse if I attempted to turn back and climb the hill home. Better to arrive at destination with bottle intact, than retreat and offer the best Italian to the pavement. The house I visited had an under-stairs cupboard, which I appreciated. Since living in an apartment one isn’t privy to such. Technically I have a coat closet, but there’s something that doesn’t quite feel stooped and under-the-stairs enough about it.
Obviously our snow event is a minor freckle compared to what I saw in Ottawa recently; Likewise we could learn from their snow ploughs, orange tractors and salting trucks. However each weather event is worthy of a nod or notice. You do not need to be the tallest woman in the world to have good feet. The mystery of whether the snow had begun amongst our weather watchers was entertainment up there and beyond Netflix.
In this regard, I think we have the best vantage point for snow in this country. Its arrival provokes curiosity and it buggers off before we are mentally buried by it.
Once in a blue moon, said the man
Around 2am there was a fog event last night. I love bearing witness to weather events that sneak in and depart before the sun rises (unless someone wants to contend that it was also foggy at sunrise). Thus we can establish we had a sneaky fog event. By morning, it was grey drizzle.
It was also grey drizzle late this afternoon at City Hall where I attended the Development Permit Board Hearing for the casino expansion. Let’s call it precisely what it is because there’s no way you can facilitate a casino this size into existence and not expect that further slots and table games will not be added. They certainly will. It’s the baptism of such. They may as well call today the red-ribbon cutting ceremony. Ironically, I sat listening to the submissions while editing and writing the gambling news (my day job). While people testified to their families being devastated by gambling addiction, while letters were read from leading medical experts on addiction warning that this was a grave error by the city, I edited a story about Queensland, Australia increasing the limits on pokie machines so they now accept $50 and $100 dollar bills, ending a decade where the machines were limited to $20. On and on the public testimony around me made it very clear this is not in the interests of the city and it’s fragile citizens and marginalized communities, who will be further marginalized with this expansion in its midst.
In fairness the DPB’s function is to assess and respond to the architecture and plans, so we have to ask ourselves as I did several times during said hearing: How did we end up here AGAIN?
Seemingly during the 2011 hearings where the proposed behemoth casino was roundly defeated and rejected by City Council, as I understand it a space expansion clause was snuck in. Always examine the sneaking-in events I say. Look at the print. Look at the prospects. Imagine the worst. Imagine what it proposes to allow as allowed.
So what began as a sneaky fog event at 2am led by 6pm to the foggy realization of what precisely was snuck in in 2011 and it’s likely impact.
Outside, a man who I think may have seen better times because he had no shoe laces, no socks and smelt profoundly of sherry, remarked to me “Once in a blue moon”. At first I didn’t understand what he was referring to, then he pointed to the moon, blued by the xmas lights and the sunset over East Vancouver and repeated his phrase. It was so resonant of what had taken place inside City Hall where the permit was approved. (Thank you to the public representative on the board who recommend sending it back to council and not approving it — the others merely deflecting to a generic position of what I am here to assess which we can now conclude does not include public safety nor the magimixing of square footage and the intention behind having such an excessive square footage.) Once in a Blue Moon people see sense and act with conviction, I thought walking up the hill. This, alas, wasn’t the day for it. This was a driving at high speed through the fog day.
I would like to thank the man who showed me the moon. I did thank him on the street. But I’m grateful he was paying attention to the moon. I was too depressed by the hearing outcome and had occipital, parietal, frontal, temporal skull bones firmly down.
Occipital, parietal, frontal, temporal
We are in a rainy weather system the past few days. The arctic outflow ended and gave way to a damp inflow. How and ever we are thawing after the deep freeze. It’s quite strange to adjust to above zero temperatures again. I miss the strobe sunlight that comes with the sub-arctic temperatures and low cloud cover.
I subsequently rapid-read Beatriz Preciado’s Testo Junkie. I found it a very strong work indeed. The kind of intellectual work that provokes a mental and physical surge as the ideas ferment further, stronger, almost in a form of after shock, once you’re finished. The reader is T’d up! Preciado takes a mash-up approach between memoir, rogue essay and philosophical reckoning. Her ideas on and recording of her bio-hacking- her – endocrine system meld with multiple essays exploring pharmacorpoporn, gender, queer history & activism, history of technosexuality, drag kings, Freud’s voluntary intoxication, the Pill, the future, the hairy arm, hotel drama and more, more, more. I loved Preciado’s playful invention with language. How she remixes words and blends them to reflect her philosophical inquiries. (Bio-information empire, planetary invagination, prosthetico-comotose, pharmacorpornopolitical, biopolitical fictions, plastic fidelity)
Some of the ideas she posits reminded me of the panel I did with Lidia Yuknavitch, Shanna Germain and Yuvi in Portland where we called for or discussed a literature of the body. Or Lidia did and I concurred. I remember connecting physicality and physical exertion with the creation of my prose and how one was informing the other in my case. The book made me think of Kathy Acker’s work and the swimming scene in Yuknavitch’s memoir.
Conveniently this weekend I was studying bones and most especially the bones of the foot. I am studying anatomy and muscles at the moment for an exam. I am very interested in the body in literature. I think this is clear in Malarky. I’m also very keen to create a BODY of literary work and criticism, so must keep the occipital, parietal, frontal, temporal skull bones firmly down and the brain within them bones nourished and ticking over to achieve this.
Valuing Our Labour: Every job matters
…was the name of my closing presentation last week at the BC Nurses Union Human Rights & Equity conference, which was ironically held at the Hyatt — a company I once had the most dreadful labour related experience with. Oh how the turnstile rotates. I had forgotten this until I began typing this post.
The invitation to talk at the BCNU conference was a personal milestone that I am both grateful for and very proud of. I loved talking about this topic which means so much to me and I was able to talk about the labour of Malarky and our project Rereading the Riot Act and my own history with labour, growing up under Thatcher etc. I ended my hour presentation with readings from Malarky. Thank you to all the nurses who responded so warmly to it. There was much laughter in that room.
It was very invigorating to meet nurses from all over BC. Many were there from Thompson-River (does that sound right?) a place I had heard of from the weather map during the weather forecast. Another nurse was from Fort St John and we had a lovely exchange about his work there. I asked some of them while book signing about the worst challenges of their jobs and they replied that staffing cuts and insufficient staffing numbers were very hard.
There were other speakers at the conference like Lee Maracle and other activists. I wasn’t able to hear any of the presentations unfortunately due to my own work pressures, but the summary of the day by Deborah was inspiring to listen to. Afterwards I thought of the proximity of nurses coming together to discuss ideas and to share dialogue about how they can become activists in their communities and the interrogation that goes into a piece of fiction, especially thinking along the lines of form. It made me recognize we are not so far apart because we are looking for new ideas, new ways of seeing, new ways of reading situations or other ways of thinking.
I must prepare more talks. I love public speaking. Roll up. Roll up.
Testo Junkie: Sex, Drugs and Biopolitics
Very compelling extract in e-flux of Beatriz Preciado’s book Testo Junkie: Sex, Drugs, and Biopolitics. I am quite fascinated by her ideas and the way she established her own medical protocol and what she suggests about self-administered Testo. (Not to be confused with Tesco — do not rush out and rub patches of Tesco on your elbows)
As an aside: I did wonder if by consuming a certain brand of ice cream one might also achieve similar results in that you’d be connected into the stream of a molecule that ultimately leads to corporate synthetic steroids and pharmaceutical decisions. Thus in the future will “pharmacopornographic capitalism” also include shooting up milk? Milk, in some parts, being whacked full of hormones and let’s face it, pretty open source. Needless to say any work that make me contemplate milk in such terms on a Tuesday will certainly be read.
Click the quote below to read entire piece. Preciado’s book available in all intelligent bookstores. (Probably unlikely to be found in the candle, pillow, softest bathrobe type bookshops.)
Icing sugar weather event
We are coming to the close of the icing sugar weather event, where snow dusted us. This follows our freeze your phalanges off 5 day retreat. It was very mild mannered snow. The temperature is due to rise from tomorrow onwards. Thus our arctic pause may be over.
It’s never over in Antarctica, where following our lead in some sort of reverb/feedback ping of arctic inflow from us, they recorded the lowest temperature ever -93.2 C yesterday.
Despite this news I still want to be reincarnated as a penguin (if anyone is filling out the order forms there in reincarnation headquarters.)
Rideaux: curtains and fireplaces tour
Here are some snaps of my curtain and fireplace tour at Rideau Hall recently. I was intrigued by how impractical the fireplaces seemed i.e. that they were not lit so often. But the curtains were impressive. There was a distinct lack of tinsel in the very minimal Christmas decorations. No 1970’s salute in here! Ribbon seemed to be the favoured decoration.
Also, this item. This giant shell? Did you donate it to the Canadian people or the GG ? If so, step up and identify yourself as nobody is entirely sure where this shell or whatever it may be came from. Solve this national mystery in the comments section!
You can never say enough about the weather …
140 miles pr hr winds hit England and Ireland this week. East Anglia saw a sea-surge that tipped houses into the sea (or should that be dragged houses into the sea?). The images are astonishing. This story on the BBC also caught my ear: a lifeboat station in Norfolk was pulled into the sea in the surge. Lifeboats being precisely that which rescues people from the sea, being thus swallowed up by the sea prior to any rescuing is very strange and leaves one with the question: what remains?
I remain perplexed as to why the weather is not THE story each and every day. Increasingly, this season there are more and more of these storms. India, The Philippines, Cuba, England, Scotland & more.
Arctic front: Sari up!
I am writing to you from the arctic front. The arctic front has been with us much of the week. The lack of cloud cover means bright sun amid the very minus temperatures. I am writing this to you indoors with three coats on, a hat and am reaching for the ski-ing gloves. Tonight the temperature will sink to -16 with windchill. This is nothing compared to my very recent trip to Ottawa where the temperature was -25 in balmy mornings!
Here is picture of me in the Governor General’s greenhouse. (There is a banana tree at the very far end of it which had bunches of green bananas growing on it. I did ask the RCMP person if he ate them for breakfast to no definitive response). I was not randomly in the greenhouse. I was invited to attend the Gov. General Literary Awards by the Canada Council. We had a splendid evening, mostly because the people who work in Rideau Hall are very lively and very fun. Thank you to them for the many lively exchanges I had that night. I also particularly appreciated the French editor or publisher from Boreal who didn’t bother to heed the dress code and looked more ravishing than most in his Mark’s Work World shirt. More defiance of dress code is needed and should be applauded! Also short people should not be instructed ever to wear Long Dress. The planet is already struggling enough without the visual affront of the likes of my-short-self in such garb. Fortunately I am grateful to the sari (and her owner) for containing me, much more elegantly.
Thank you to Sandy and Siobhán for collectively dressing me. Shortly I shall post my curtains and fireplace tour of Rideau Hall.
